Did I tell you this already?

I’m out of ideas. Except for this idea, I guess, to write about it. It sobers one when the mind goes its merry way, never bothering to take stock of current inventory so as it can provide hints and subject matter as required in functioning society.

Do I have Alzheimer’s, or some similar dementia? My mother had it; so did her father and a first cousin. I’ve lived through the lives now, of two loved ones slowly dying, and can’t imagine mine would be any better. It was excruciating, not so much for me, but for mother as she disappeared bit by bit. She lived 10 years after her diagnosis, but there had been plenty of signs earlier: things she said a propos of nothing; things that would have been typical comments in her youth but had no meaning in her current life. A prolific and gifted pianist, she would sit down at the piano intending to play, then had to give up when her hands wouldn’t do as she willed them.

It’s been about 20 years since I noticed the first symptoms in myself that are common in an Alzheimer’s diagnosis. I have always had an unusually fantastic memory. People used to joke that, had they something, some date, etc. that needed remembering, they could just tell me and I’d remind them. My powers of recall weren’t eidetic – far from it – but they were pretty damn good. Then there were the words I suddenly couldn’t access. As I have long been a writer and editor by profession, words did hold a rather important role in my life.

At that time I was 49, fairly young for the disease, but I was concerned nonetheless. I was decidedly not as sharp as I had been. A head CT indicated no Alzheimer’s, nor any other dementia. My fading memory was explained, apparently, by regular aging patterns. That, and the fact I’d been under an ungodly amount of stress - because shit was then coming at me from all directions - moved the doctors to explain away my sudden lapses, and I was told not to worry.

So, properly diagnosed, I went about my highly stress-filled life, coping with depression and anxiety and other mood disorders requiring medication if I were to keep going. I was fine. I didn’t fancy the idea of being pronounced old (the specialist was a gerontologist), but, given that explanation, I didn’t worry too much about the slowly eroding world that had set up shop in my head.

At first it wasn’t big things. I’d suddenly forget a name or an appointment date. That happens to everybody as they age, of course. Some experience it even when they’re yet lounging in relative youth. Nothing to concern myself about. But when the lapses and errors began happening exponentially as months went by, I requested another head CT to find out what was slopping about my noggin. I ended up with the same doctor who, this time refused even to requisition a head CT, and seemed quite put out that I dare question his authority. Again, the memory troubles I was having were, he told me, still just symptoms of aging, prolonged stress and, this time, he added side effects from the medications I was on for my mental health. I was livid but, in Ontario, you are assigned a specialist. Not ideal, but health care is free. My family doctor wouldn’t refer me to another specialist, so I went on my way, my loathing of the medical profession soundly established.

And the degradation continued, year after year, my memory ever worsening. I began to forget entire years, or at least what notable things had happened that year. I’d set off to drive somewhere familiar and would forget how to get there, or even where the appointment or store was located. Conversations happening as recently as the day before were often lost to me, and I began to suspect my family was telling me lies in order to keep me confused. Of course, they weren’t, but I did have my doubts at the time. That’s another symptom…paranoia. It’s fun for the whole family. I then began to forget things like how to tie shoes, or the fact I’d seen certain movies already, even recently, and couldn’t remember anything about them. Then I’d immediately forget that I forgot about it and the cycle would recur.

This is my past and, I believe, could be indicative of a diagnosis of some kind of dementia. It certainly feels like it, as I forget where I’ve put things – many times a day - or what had happened in the past days, be they recent or distant. Then there was that three-day vacation in New York 15 years ago that I’ll never remember. It was supposed to be a trip I’d never forget. Oh well.

Every single day, there’s something. Often many things

I’ve been agitating for another head CT for a few years. Finally, FINALLY I have a requisition and appointment for one fairly soon. It’s a good thing I find this incredibly interesting, or I imagine I’d be more worried than I am. I will, however, be relieved if I’m yet compos mentis and can hang in for a goodly number of years going forth.

Whatever the diagnosis, I plan to chronicle the experience, the ‘journey’ as they say, for as long as I possibly can.

Hoping to hear from me.